


flowers of flesh and blood (don't cry, don't worry; you're supposed to bleed the first time)

by msbrokenbrightside



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Flowers, La Petite Mort Quite Literally, Major Character Injury, Past Rape/Non-con, References to Depression, woundfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 16:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21139817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msbrokenbrightside/pseuds/msbrokenbrightside
Summary: Y'all, just heed the tags please. And, ahh, happy kinktober?





	flowers of flesh and blood (don't cry, don't worry; you're supposed to bleed the first time)

**Author's Note:**

> So. Here I am making Kashaw's life hell again. I can't help that he's the epitome of my favorite tropes. Originally the title was only meant to be the parenthesis (b/c what a summary for Kash/Vesh huh?) but I can't resist gratuitous flower imagery with our grumpy cleric. Anyway, please remember to heed the tags. 
> 
> ("Flowers of Flesh and Blood" by Nicole Dollanganger)

Kashaw hopes that the bugbear is enjoying their slow gut-wounded death more than he is.

As he chokes on another shaky breath, pain dancing up from his stomach, he hopes even more.

At least he won’t have to listen to their cries as he has the adrenalin enough to hold himself together, literally, until he reaches a clearing outside the forest canopy. The clear night sky above him when he finally collapses below it. If he’s gonna die without Z there he at least wants her moon. Maybe it will tell her his fate in her dreams. Maybe she’ll come save him from what awaits him after his death.

The thought must summon her because even through his hazy, bloodlost, vision Kashaw sees Vesh at the edge of the forest he just left.

She moves to him too quickly that his body instinctively jerks back because _nothing _but the wind can move that fast. But Vesh is some kind of godthing so _she _can and before he thinks to flee she has his wrist in her grasp. If he hadn’t lost so much blood he would try and pull away when she tugs, but as it is he can barely keep his head up. So Vesh jerks him into her lap—ignoring his cry as she jostles his wound—slipping her other hand under his thigh to tear her nails through the fabric of his pants and dig into his flesh.

“Not even a kiss before, wife?” he grunts, because when he is near Vesh he has no sense of self-preservation. He’s already with Death.

She smiles.

“Sweet husband,” she coos, and he almost flinches at the sweetness, the taste of rotten peaches in his mouth, “I’m sorry, I forget my duties.”

She takes his mouth with hers and it’s as if he’s fifteen again; the trembling sets in like a deer caught in the wolf’s den. It’s fitting given the blood he’s lost is close to that night. Phantom stings light up on his arm and it mixes with the pain from his stomach wound so well that his vision whites out. Vesh growls and strikes his face with the palm of her hand. He gasps and she digs her clawed fingers into his cheeks.

“None of that, husband, we only have so much time for our dues,” she hisses at him, before pushing him off her lap and onto the ground. He gasps again, the gaping hole above his hips stinging violently, and tastes flowers in his mouth. He opens his eyes to color dampened by the night. He doesn’t remember falling in a field of flowers but all around him is lavender, jasmine, calendula, hawthorn-oh.

Oh.

It’s to be expected. With Vesh so powerful and close, of course his blood would bleed life into the empty ground. Always trying to balance her out, even as he’s dying.

“Not yet,” Vesh smiles, hovering over him as she slides his leg over her hip. He hears blood slosh out of his stomach as its elevated and Vesh licks her lips, hungry gaze drawn to the sound. Kashaw growls and clenches his fists so his nails dig crescents into his palms. Some of the flowers getting caught between and crushed in his grasp, the juices from broken stems and petals slipping between his fingers.

“Of course not,” Kashaw huffs, attempting indifference but it falls too short and turns hopeless. He almost wishes she’d take him away now; the stress of it too much. Some days he can’t leave bed, can’t taste food, and can’t feel himself in his own skin.

She lets her hand slide down his chest, claws teasing the torn fabric around his stomach before she hovers over the wound itself. Leaching the heat of his blood and insides with her cold hand; life feeding death, Vesh is always hungry. So she presses her hand into the wound and Kashaw cries out from the pressure and the bite of it. Then her hand slips past the wound, under the untorn skin, digging inside of him before he can even think to try and say no.

He screams and she pushes deeper, pressing the untouched pieces of him. There’ll be nothing left that’s not hers, Kashaw realizes, and this is what draws the tears down his face. Not the pain, the sting and the throbbing, but that he’ll be hers again in new ways and in all ways.

Even the soft petals against his face can’t change that. His one man war against death; his one life, even enough to feed a field, swept up into her violent storm. 

“This way is my favorite,” she breathes against his lips, heavy with effort and desire, before she travels down his neck with nips and kisses. Her pace molasses slow compared to the hand pistoning inside of him. She reaches his pulse with her mouth and he knows now, as her teeth sink into him and her hand pushes father.

This is the worst way.

He comes, tears and blood pouring out of him instead of seed, and watches as more flowers bloom around them.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know your thoughts~


End file.
